“I believe I know how they learned of our status.” Four pairs of eyes turned to Elizabeth. “Do you recall when Mrs. Hurst andMiss Grantley encountered us while shopping?”
“Of course!” Jane exclaimed. “Miss Grantley addressed us by our honorifics, and from that one greeting alone, the whole of Father’s inheritance had to be explained.”
“Mrs. Hurst must have written to her sister the very minute she returned home.”
Jane tilted her head, a small crease forming between her brows as she turned the thought over.
“I do not believe she did, because Miss Bingley’s manner towards me was entirely unchanged. Had she known of Papa’s title, the temptation to ingratiate herself would have proven quite irresistible. I suspect that Mrs. Hurst wrote to her brother alone, and he chose to keep his own counsel. For what purpose, I cannot fathom.” Her gaze moved to the vacant space by the sideboard. “In any case, I am twice grateful for Mr. Morgan’s timely arrival. Another moment and I should have been obliged to sacrifice my new reticule.”
“How so?” Aunt Madeline asked.
“I have a volume of sonnets in it, to read in the carriage. The spine is quite solid, and that alone would have made a most gratifying impression on Mr. Bingley’s nose.”
“Brava, Jane!” Lizzy cried. “I confess I am almost sorry the occasion did not arise. However, should the sonnets have failed, there was always the remedy Charlotte Lucas once prescribed.”
“Which was?” Mr. Morgan asked, with the air of a man carefully weighing whether he truly wished to know.
A faint warmth crept into Jane’s cheeks and spread to the tips of her ears. “It involves a rather decisive upward motion of the foot, and or knee.”
“Ah.” The single syllable hung in the air as he turned away slightly, the movement of his shoulders betraying silent laughter.
“On that note,” Uncle Edward said, his face also taking on a ruddy hue, “I believe we should take our leave.”
As the party moved towards the door, Mr. Morgan fell into step beside Jane, close enough that his voice reached only her. “I shall take great care,” he murmured, “never to find myself on the wrong side of your good opinion.”
Chapter Eighteen
Late that afternoon, aretinue of carriages made their way down the oak-lined drive to Tetherwood, the last burst of daylight falling in long amber strips between the trees. They had scarcely drawn to a halt before a stream of footmen descended from the manor to hand the weary travellers down, while the servants and luggage were directed onward to the domestic entrance on the west side of the building.
It was the sight of the main entrance in the fading light that drew a low chuckle from Uncle Edward. Elizabeth turned to him. “What is it?”
“The hedgerows,” he said, nodding towards the freshly planted rows flanking the steps.
“I had not noticed.” She pressed her lips together. “Papa’s doing, do you think?”
“My sister’s, I would wager.” He smiled at her look of surprise. “You were too young to remember that your mother possessed a considerable sense of humour. It has been long buried beneath her anxieties — for herself, for you girls — but it is there. She is more like you than you know.”
“Like me!”
“Jane may have her features, but had you known yourmother before her marriage, you might well have mistaken her for yourself.”
Elizabeth considered this. “And the hedgerows, she had them planted because she always fancied herself living among them?”
“Just so. And your father, I think, would have been delighted by it.”
Elizabeth laughed quietly to herself. Her mother, possessed of humour. What revelation was next? Mr. Collins acquiring sense? She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it formed. Some things were simply beyond imagining.
Her musings were halted by the front entrance door opening wide, and her parents emerging from the grand manor. Her mother bustled down the stairs, not waiting for her family to come to her, while their father waited patiently on the landing.
“You are here, at last!” Mamma exclaimed, kissing her brother on the cheek, and hugging Aunt Madeline. She then turned her attention to her daughters and held her arms out wide, inviting them both to embrace her. With no hesitation, she and Jane both obliged. Only once their mother was satisfied that they were healthy and hale did she turn her attention to the tall, silent man, standing near the carriage.
“Jane, my dear, will you please introduce me to this handsome young man?”
Jane moved to Mr. Morgan and, taking his hand in hers, brought him forward.
“Mother, I present to you Mr. Joshua Morgan of London and Nottingham.” She gave him a happy smile. “Mr. Morgan, this is my mother Frances Bennet, Countess Rumley, and the gentleman who has not left his post by the front door is my father, Thomas Bennet, Earl Rumley.”
Papa had the sense to flush at the gentle chastisement of his eldest daughter, but he remained steadfast to his purpose, which apparently was to guard the manor against Nordic invaders.